


Take Me To Church

by Carbynn



Series: Royed Week 2018 [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Deity Au, Fluff, Implications Of Outdoor Sex, M/M, Old Gods, Overuse Of The Word Golden And Other Words That Could Mean That, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 00:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15762918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carbynn/pseuds/Carbynn
Summary: Very few nights pass without Roy paying tribute to old gods.





	Take Me To Church

**Author's Note:**

> No thesauruses were hurt in the writing of this fic.
> 
> Day 3: Canon/AU

Very few nights pass without Roy paying tribute to old gods.

Life and death tangle together in the hazy evening light of the field, and Roy has never felt more grounded, more connected with the world and with the subtle, quiet energy that links it all together. He can’t see it, but he can feel it as golden strands of hair slide through his fingers.

The head on his lap is heavy and warm, and Roy can’t resist, as he weaves through it with an assortment of the wildflowers that speckle the ground around them, leaning forward to press a kiss against the crinkled corner of one closed eye.

The god awakens, golden eyes glowing bright in the fading orange of the setting sun staring up at him, seeing through him, as a hand reaches up to brush against Roy’s hand buried in his hair.

“Flowers?”

“I thought they’d suit you.”

He’s nude, save for the flowers, skin warm with the golden glow of summer, and sated. Roy had made sure of that, bringing him to ecstatic heights over and over again until he’d succumbed to exhaustion and laid down to rest on Roy’s bare thigh.

Roy longs to reach out again, to smooth his hands over that skin again, to worship him again, but the fragile serenity of the moment won’t be broken for anything, so Roy contents himself with further adornment, weaving more flowers into that golden hair. It looks molten in the sunset, or like fire, and Roy nearly marvels that it doesn’t burn tracks in his fingers where it slips against them.

He’s beautiful, and Roy still can’t believe that he’s fortunate enough to be allowed anywhere near this ethereal perfection. Faith isn’t something to be rewarded with flesh, isn’t something that expects reward at all, and Roy certainly never expected this.

Most men spend lifetimes seeking out the divine, and instead, the divine found Roy.

“You’re thinking,” the god accuses, shifting on Roy’s lap and finally rearing up to support himself on his knees, one planted on either side of Roy’s legs, effectively caging him but Roy has never felt trapped. He’s a servant but not a slave, even though he would gladly offer forward anything that was asked of him. He’s crowned in white and purple flowers, backlit by the dying sun and burning in it, glowing in it like liquid metal “I don’t want you to think about anything but me.”

Hands settle on his shoulders and fingertips skim up his neck until palms cradle his face, tilting his head so that he can meet the god’s honeyed eyes. Roy leans into the touch, into the heat of those hands, and allows himself to be manipulated by them.

“I am thinking about you,” he murmurs, settling his own hands on the sweeping curve of waist in front of him. “You’ve enchanted me. I’m yours in body and soul.”

Lips brush over his own and this time a hand tangles in his hair. There’s power in this kiss, and Roy nearly quakes with the intensity of it. He’s not built for this, too fragile and too human to contain the energy being poured into him, but he would gladly fly to pieces if it means this doesn’t have to end.

 “You’re insatiable,” the god says, stroking the pad of his thumb over Roy’s bottom lip when he draws away, and Roy can barely hide his disappointment. “So eager to please and to be pleased.”

Delicately, Roy scrapes his teeth over the thumb on his lip. “You’re transcendent. Perfection solidified in flesh. How can I help but to want you? To love you with everything in me?”

A toss of his head and a fall of shimmering hair over his shoulder betray the god’s satisfaction. He skims his hands down to Roy’s naked chest, pressing his palms over his heart. “It’s late,” he murmurs, leaning in to run his lips against Roy’s collarbone. “Nearly dark.”

Roy’s head falls back under the attention. “It is,” he acknowledges in a low murmur. He recognizes the significance of it, even though he’d rather ignore it, and he allows himself just one more moment to enjoy before he breaks the spell. “We should get back.”

“Yeah, Al’ll be wondering where we are.” Ed kisses over Roy’s pulse and slides off of his lap, standing with a languid stretch. Roy’s eyes wander across the expanse of his back, taking in the lithe muscle and the familiar, jagged edge of his automail scar. “Where’d you end up throwing my clothes, anyway?”

“Somewhere that way, I think,” Roy says, gesturing off to the right. His own are scattered across the field and he wills himself to his feet, ignoring the pinch in his back the movement caused, to fetch them.

They don’t do this sort of thing very often. It’s difficult to weave a spell in their own familiar bedroom, and the opportunity for such an extended game doesn’t often present itself. Besides, Roy doesn’t need to pretend that Ed’s worthy of his worship, and he doesn’t need an occasion to bathe him in adoration; Ed is the altar Roy prays on every single day.

Ed doesn’t accept that sort of attention often, either. While he’s used to being the center of attention, praise isn’t something he’s managed to accustom himself to and the full weight of Roy’s focus is always something he demures away from under a shield of wit and teasing mocking. It breaks Roy’s heart really, seeing how difficult Ed finds it to hear and believe that he’s wonderful. If he could, he’d turn back the clock and undo some of the damage done to Ed, because no matter what anyone says, the greatest tragedy of Ed’s entire life is that no one ever taught him that he’s valuable.

Ed has wormed himself back into his clothes by the time Roy manages to get his shirt on, and he crosses the field to knock Roy’s hands out of the way and do up the buttons himself. Roy can’t help but to notice that he’s left the flowers in his hair.

“Not a bad way to spend the first day of a vacation,” Roy says, resting his hands on Ed’s hips while he finishes the buttons. “In fact, I can’t think of anything else I’d rather have done.”

“You’re not the one who got chigger bites on your ass,” Ed says, characteristically eloquent as per usual, but Roy knows there’s no fire in it, and that he’s not actually complaining.

“I can doctor you up later,” Roy purrs, pulling Ed in close and nosing a line down his jaw to his throat. “I’ve heard hands-on treatment is best.” He scrapes his teeth lightly over Ed’s fluttering pulse, tasting the heat and salt of his skin like he’s the most exquisite treat.

Ed’s head lolls back but he finds the will to complain anyway. “Yeesh, didn’t you get enough?”

“Of you, my love? Never.”

Ed graciously allows Roy to nibble his neck for a few moments more before pushing him away. “You can feel me up later, we gotta get back before it gets dark.”

Roy sighs and works to make it as put-upon as possible but he’d rather not lose the path and get lost in Resembool in the dark, so he follows Ed across the field back to the wood line they’d emerged from hours earlier.

Ed’s framed in gold and orange light from the fading daylight as he walks ahead of him, regal and ephemeral as ever, and although Roy has never been a believer, there’s religion in the way Ed walks, and Roy’s faith is unbreakable.


End file.
